


high hopes (it takes me back to when we started)

by orphan_account



Category: Smosh
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, mentions of former Anthony/Kalel, mentions of former Melanie/Ian, post-breakups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Anthony accidentally moves back in with Ian at the Smosh house after breaking up with Kalel, and things progress from there. Featuring the Smosh Games crew, a healthy amount of drunk!Anthony shenanigans, and an Ian who mysteriously skypes with Melanie a lot and despairs at the quantity of drunk!Anthony shenanigans. </p><p>Happy ending, I promise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've spent an irresponsible amount of time on this fic this week, so I'll try to make this quick:  
> -I'm brand new to this fandom, so if any of the facts are off, try to ignore it, sorry! Is Ian actually allergic to cats, or is that just something I read somewhere and decided was a fact? Where the hell do they film all the Smosh stuff? I tried to research as best as I could but I just felt kind of creepy after awhile and gave up haha  
> -I used to watch Smosh videos back in middle school when YouTube first became big and Smosh was the only thing on it, but kind of drifted away from it over the years. Then last month one of their recent videos popped up in my sidebar suggestions and I looked at the thumbnail and was like....damn...Anthony fucking LEVELLED THE FUCK UP. And now all I've done for the past week is write fic so...yeah...  
> -I've never actually written slash or any kind of smut before, and I'm so sorry about the shitty attempts at smut in this fic. I literally just sat in front of my laptop and cringed for an hour while trying to write the physical stuff, and then I gave up.  
> -Disclaimer: This is a purely fanmade story, and I don't pretend to know anything about Anthony and Ian's real lives or feelings!

               

                _The sixth grade class is quietly seated in perfect rows, all eyes on the teacher when Ian is escorted into the room by the heavy-jowled, brightly smiling principal. All but one boy in the back, who appears to be trying to use a string to pull the window open, perhaps to make an escape attempt._

_When all the other students turn to stare at him, adolescent eyes narrowed and judgmental, Ian keeps his eyes on the dark-haired boy in the back, who pays the rest of the class no mind._

_“Welcome, Ian! We hope you’ll be very happy here,” the teacher says with a false-looking smile. Her class already has five more students than she wants, and she isn’t interested in adding yet another student to the section. She pronounces his name weirdly._

_“Thanks,” he mumbles._

_“Why don’t you pick a seat? There are a few open ones at the front here,” she says encouragingly._

_Ian nods, glad to remove himself from the center of attention. But instead of taking one of the seats at the front, as he knows his mom would want him to, he heads straight for the back of the class where there is an open spot by the dark-haired boy._

_He takes a seat. The teacher hesitates for a minute, looking like she wants to tell him to come back to the front. But maybe it’s too much effort to attempt to corral a new student, because she just turns back to the chalkboard and starts droning on about stalagmites._

_“Hey,” Ian hisses, trying to catch the other boy’s attention._

_The boy looks up warily, clearly not interested in what Ian has to say._

_“I can help you beat that level,” Ian says, noticing that the boy is playing GameBoy under his desk. “I know a cheat.”_

_The boy looks up with much more interest this time. “My name is Anthony,” he says motioning for Ian to scoot his chair over a little to peer at the screen._

_Somewhere across galaxies and universes and time and space, Destiny smiles._

Anthony lasts about a week after the break-up before he starts packing.

He doesn’t like living alone. He never has—even as a little kid, he was comforted by the sounds of voices in the background when his parents had company over; excited when he was allowed to have a friend over in the summer to distract him from the mind-numbing boringness of playing alone. He likes people; he _needs_ to be around people to balance out his naturally hyperactive and somewhat anxious personality. When he is around others, he isn’t so stuck in his own head.

This is what he tells himself, anyway, when he is climbing the walls of his apartment a mere week after the break-up with Kalel. He has had his time to wallow alone, Pip his only companion through those first two nights of drunken crying after Kalel left, and the following five nights of pacing restlessly and blearily watching infomercials on the couch til the sun rose behind him and bathed the room in pastel light.

But now, on Day 8 of being single, he is sick of these walls and this space. He is sick of listening to his own voice talk, and even though Pip is an awesome listener, he can’t speak back.

He knows he could call any number of friends and family members who would gladly come crash on his couch bearing 6-packs of beer and vegan pizza and a sympathetic ear, but he doesn’t want just anybody. He doesn’t want to have to put on a brave face or give the appearance of being somewhat-alright when he really isn’t.

So really, there is only one place to go.

He is standing in his room throwing clothes into a duffel bag before he consciously has made up his mind to drive to Sacramento. But once the idea settles into his brain, he knows he’s going to go. Pip rubs up against his legs, staring at him reproachfully, as though sensing that Anthony is leaving.

“Sorry, but you can’t come,” he says, bending down to scratch Pip’s forehead. “Some people are allergic to cats, you know.”

He scrawls a quick note to his elderly neighbor, asking if she will please feed the cat tomorrow for him, and slips it under her door as he leaves, carrying a duffel bag of clothes and a backpack with his laptop in it. The essentials.

He hits the road and drives through the night, enjoying the complete silence of the road. He leaves L.A. at 11, and by the time it is midnight there are almost no other cars on the road with him. He puts on the radio for a while, but every song reminds him of Kalel, so he turns it off. He stops twice to use the bathroom and buy snacks along the way, and when he pulls up in front of the Smosh house at half past five in the morning, the sun has already begun rising, weak light beginning to glow in the grey sky.

He lets himself in unhesitatingly—this is his house too, after all, even if he hasn’t actually _lived_ in it for ages—but he stops short of actually going and sleeping in his own room. Mainly because he doesn’t know if the bed has sheets on it anymore, but also because he thinks it would be too strange going back and laying down in that bed again like it’s an everyday thing; almost as if he were trying to go back in time and erase all that has happened since he moved out.

So he throws his stuff down and crashes straight on the couch. It is still dark in the house because of the early hour, but he doesn’t need light to know where everything in this house is. And as he lies on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, he knows he had made the right choice in coming here. This is where he needs to be right now.

Figuring that he has at least five or six hours of time to sleep before Ian gets up—they have nothing Smosh-related scheduled for the day, and Ian always gets up promptly at 11 and goes and gets donuts on his days off—Anthony dozes off peacefully on the couch.

His last thought before unconsciousness is that he is oddly comforted by the sight of the familiar white ceiling—how can a ceiling even _be_ familiar, anyway?—and the home-y smell of the throw blanket he steals from the back of the recliner.

* * *

When Anthony awakes, he instantly knows that he hasn’t slept for as long as he had wanted to or planned to. It is much lighter in the room, light enough to properly be morning now, but the tell-tale ache in his head and grittiness in his eyes lets him know that it isn’t later than seven or eight in the morning.

Sure enough, when he squints at the wall clock, it proclaims it to be 7:48. He is wondering what had woken him up when he hears the sounds of someone who is unmistakably Ian puttering around in the kitchen. The tuneless humming, the sound of butter being scraped onto toast, the swing of the fridge door—these are all sounds that he had assimilated under the mental file of ‘morning at the Smosh house’ without realizing it.

With Kalel, morning had sounded like health smoothies in the blender, the squeak of a yoga mat, and the click of makeup brushes on the bathroom sink. But now he hears silverware clanging and he knows without a doubt that Ian is pretending to drum on the counter with his knife and fork to accompany the beat of the questionable pop song he is humming.

He rolls off the couch, stretching silently and making his way to the kitchen. He can’t help but wonder why Ian is up so early—is he going to see his mom? Does he have plans with friends for the day already? There was a time when Anthony had known exactly what Ian was doing every day simply by nature of proximity. But living in L.A. has made it hard to keep up with the small details of his best friend’s life.

“Hey,” he says casually when he is standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Ian drops his spoon in surprise, completely submerging it in his bowl of sugary cereal.

“Anthony!” He exclaims, startled, as he fishes it back out. “What are you doing here?” His eyes flicker to the floor by where Anthony is standing, and Anthony notices a weekend bag packed and waiting by his feet.

 _Shit._ “Sorry,” Anthony says. “I would have told you I was coming up, but it was kind of a spur of the moment decision to drive down. If you have other plans, don’t let me stand in your way, man.”

“No,” Ian says, his expression earnest. “I was just…I was just about to come and see you, actually. Thanks for saving me the drive to L.A., I guess.”

“Really?” Anthony asks, feeling a bit lighter as he steals the unbuttered piece of Ian’s toast and goes to the pantry to find the jar of organic strawberry jelly he’d left here last month.

“Yeah, I was getting kind of worried, man. I’ve called you like ten times in the past week and you weren’t answering. I texted Kalel last night to ask her if you were okay, and…she told me the news,” Ian seems to be watching Anthony’s face carefully, as though Anthony might suddenly burst into tears or begin screaming at the mention of his former fiancée’s name.

“Oh,” Anthony says numbly. He had forgotten that he had turned his phone off a few days ago—it might actually still be in L.A., now that he thinks about it—not wanting to risk the temptation to call Kalel or deal with the fans clamoring and asking him where he is and why he hasn’t been online recently. He just needs to be off the grid for a while. “I’m okay,” he says.

Ian appraises him. “You look like shit,” he shakes his head, expression matter-of-fact. “You want an omelet or something? I got some of that vegan fake-cheese shit that you like because it was on sale the other day. It tastes just as bad as it looks but I know you somehow manage to eat it without throwing up, so I saved it for you.”

Anthony _is_ hungry for more than a piece of toast, now that he thinks about it. This is the first time he’s really eaten in the past week, besides mopily picking at various leftovers in his fridge. “You can cook omelets now?” He asks, faintly impressed. Just last year, Ian had almost started a kitchen fire making _oatmeal_ of all things.

“No. But you can.” He ducks as Anthony throws the jelly jar cap at him. “If you want to make me one, I’ll take green peppers in it. Since you _are_ always trying to get me to be more healthy and all.”

Anthony rolls his eyes at Ian’s shit-eating grin, but smiles slightly as he grabs a pan and fishes some ingredients out of the fridge. He cooks their omelets in comfortable silence and Ian, bless his heart, says nothing when Anthony takes down a cat magnet that Kalel had given them down off the fridge and throws it away.

He just pours another glass of orange juice and pushes it in Anthony’s direction.

“I’m going for a run after breakfast, if you want to come.”

Anthony hasn’t slept well in what feels like years, but he nods his head to the idea. He’s not sure he’s ready to be alone with his thoughts again yet.

* * *

They don’t do much that day. Or the next. Anthony just sort of follows Ian around as he goes through his daily routine. They go jogging and fall on their asses laughing in the park when they see a pre-teen boy who is trying to be cool in front of a girl wipe out on his skateboard. They pull out the ancient N64 and play Mario Kart and Super Smash Bros until Anthony feels like the cheerful background music has been burned into his brain. They eat a lot of donuts, and make their way through a few 6-packs of beer. They film a new Lunchtime with Smosh episode, something they haven’t done very regularly over the past year or so.

They don’t talk about the break-up.

Anthony isn’t ready, and Ian seems to instantly understand this. And that is the reason why Anthony had come here—he had known that Ian would know exactly what Anthony needed, better than Anthony himself knew even. That’s what happens when you have the same best friend for over fifteen years.

He quickly realizes how much he had _missed_ living in the Smosh house without even realizing it; how safe and small and peaceful it was. Life in L.A. was exciting—there were new trends to explore, movie stars to run into, and expensive parties to attend. But there was also a lot of pressure. Some of it had come from the pace of life in L.A.; the culture of Hollywood. But now that he has taken a step or two back, he can admit to himself that a lot of the pressure had come from Kalel herself.

The other thing he realizes is that he has been a shit friend to Ian this past year or two.

Here he is, being all dramatic and silent over his own break-up when Ian himself had recently broken up with Melanie.

Why hadn’t Anthony driven up to see Ian after that had happened? He’d taken him out for drinks in L.A. after filming a Game Bang when Ian had broken the news of the split, but he had never really considered going beyond that to console his friend.

They had drifted slightly apart over the past two or three years, but Anthony had never thought much of it. Ian was still his best friend; would always _be_ his best friend. But it was the little, day-to-day things that had slowly been let go as Anthony had lost himself more and more to life in L.A. and the dream of marrying Kalel.

At the time he had thought that it was all a natural part of growing up—he and Ian were two grown men, and they could be best friends without being roommates and talking to each other every night as they brushed their teeth in the bathroom together, for Christ’s sake.

Anthony knows the fault for their drifting apart lies mostly with him, but Ian doesn’t seem too bothered _._ “I’m going to grab some stuff to grill tonight since it’s so nice out,” Ian says Anthony’s second night in Sacramento, pulling on a sweatshirt and grabbing his keys. Itis an unseasonably warm night for early November, and Anthony is sitting on the couch, perusing a comic book. He can’t remember the last time he actually _read_ a physical book that he held in his hands and turned the pages of. “You want a hamburger, or should I get some veggie burgers?”

His expression is neutral but Anthony sees a little bit of curiosity in it—curiosity to find out if Anthony is going to give up the vegan thing now that he is no longer with Kalel. Anthony thinks he knows the answer to that, but he hasn’t fully decided for himself yet, so he doesn’t answer Ian’s unspoken question.

“I think you should get some veggie burgers,” he says.

And Ian just smiles and nods as he heads out the door, because above all else, he is a really good best friend.

* * *

On day 3, Anthony knows he should go back to L.A. He always feels bad leaving Pip for more than a day or two, especially right now. Even though he knows Mrs. Ritter would gladly feed Pip for a few more days, Pip has to be missing Kalel by now and confused about where Anthony is.

He tells Ian as much at lunch. “Sorry I’ve been such a shitty visitor,” Anthony feels compelled to say as an afterthought.

“You’ve always been a shitty visitor, but you’ve never apologized for it before,” Ian muses. “Where was this apology that time senior year of high school when we got really high and you ate half of the cake my mom made for my sister’s birthday in the middle of the night?”

“Hey, I seem to remember _you_ eating an entire box of pop-tarts that night!” Anthony says indignantly, but he laughs at the memory, the high-pitched giggle that reminiscing with Ian so often pulls out of him. They had been such dumbass kids, but had felt invincible at the time.

“Yeah, but those pop-tarts weren’t meant for my sister’s birthday celebration the next day,” Ian points out. “They were just pop-tarts.”

“Your mom was so mad!” Anthony’s sides hurt slightly as he thinks about how red Mrs. Hecox’s face had been the next morning when she yelled at them, asking them what had made them think eating through half the food in the house in the middle of the night was a prudent idea. They obviously weren’t going to tell her about the joint they’d shared in the park that evening, so they had feebly explained that they had gotten the birthday cake confused with some other cake because of the dark kitchen. It had made absolutely no sense, and Mrs. Hecox had made them walk to a bakery almost five miles away to buy a new cake with their own money.

“So,” Ian says when they are done eating. “What would you rate this meal as?” There are no Lunchtime cameras rolling, but some routines are hard to break.

Anthony pretends to consider his sandwich thoughtfully. “3 of your haircuts from 2008 out of 5 of my current haircuts.”

Ian throws a chip at him with grave affront. “Hey! We don’t talk about my 2008 hair here! This is a safe place!”

Anthony smiles, feeling for the first time like maybe he _can_ do this whole living-without-Kalel thing.

* * *

That evening before he leaves, Anthony is finally ready to talk. They are sitting outside in the backyard, each wearing a sweatshirt. He doesn’t know why they’re out there, but by some unspoken mutual agreement, they had both drifted out to the comfy lawn chairs.

“I wonder if she really even considered actually marrying me,” he says, and the words are heavy; so heavy on his tongue. He has barely dared thinking them to himself, and now to say them aloud to another human being makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, like a trembling leaf on a tree branch. “I wonder if she already knew when I proposed that she wouldn’t go through with it. Thinking back to that day in Japan—” he cuts off with a thick swallow, thinking about that day filming the proposal vlog in Japan; how perfect everything had seemed to Anthony, how _happy_ he had been.

Had there been a shadow of doubt in Kalel’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed? Had she not wanted to marry him, but hadn’t known how to tell him at the time? Was there more he could have done to make the relationship work?

“You can’t think about all those what-ifs, man,” Ian says. “It’ll drive you crazy. Trust me.”

Anthony wonders if Ian is referring to Melanie but his expression doesn’t really invite questions.

“I really loved her, Ian,” he says, staring fixedly at the sunset. “I knew that she wasn’t as into the idea of marriage as I was, but I thought we could make it work. We could have been happy.” And there it is; the real issue, all laid out and Anthony’s feet—the loss of a dream for the future; one that had included three kids and a white picket fence and a minivan. And now he sees that even as he’d been moving closer and closer to being ready for the long-term commitment of marriage, Kalel had been inching away and stepping back from it all along.

It never would have worked. They would have been miserable after five years.

But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt now to see it end.

“You deserve better, Anthony,” Ian says suddenly, and his voice is surprisingly strong, as though this is something he has fiercely believed for years. Anthony has to wonder now if Ian had disliked Kalel this whole time; if he had sensed what lay ahead for Anthony to some degree but was too supportive to voice his concerns. “I’m serious, love shouldn’t be like that. You shouldn’t have to always be fighting just to keep someone by your side. It should take a lot of work, but the work should be evenly split between the two people. I’ve known you since we were eleven, and I can tell you that you deserve someone who can’t wait to marry you. Trust me, when you find it, you’ll know.”

Anthony stares at Ian for a long moment, startled—he has never heard Ian speak so eloquently about anything other than the merits of a new video game console. “Wow, Ian,” he says. “That was almost…wise.”

Ian leans over to smack him on the arm. “Shut up,” he grins. “I don’t know why I even bother trying to cheer you up if you’re just going to mock me.”

“Is that how you felt about Melanie?” Anthony asks, quickly glancing at Ian to gauge his reaction. Ian had sounded like he had experience with the kind of love he had referred to, and it makes Anthony wonder exactly what had happened that had ended his seeming blissfulness with Melanie.

Ian looks at him strangely though. “No,” he says cryptically. “Not about Melanie, no.” He frowns at Anthony. “Our break-up was mutual, you know. We cared about each other, we just didn’t love each other enough to make it last.” He shrugs, not looking too upset.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t really around through all of that,” Anthony says. “You’re a much better friend than I am.”

Ian waves him off, but he looks happy with the admission. “Well, now that you’re single, I’m sure I’ll have to put up with your presence a lot more, so that might change,” he grins.

This is probably the most emotionally mature conversation they’ve ever had, and Anthony suddenly finds that he is ready to go back to L.A. He’s got a lot to think through, and he’s ready to do it now.

When he leaves, he only takes his backpack with his laptop with him. The clothes remain in the duffel bag in his bedroom, which has new bedsheets and a full laundry basket for the first time in years.

Neither of them acknowledge that Anthony is intentionally leaving things behind at the Smosh house, but they hug extra hard when they say goodbye.

* * *

The next few weeks are hard, but necessary.

After a 3 year-long relationship, Anthony needs time alone to figure out who he is again.

He goes on a lot of long walks through the streets of L.A., just him and his thoughts.

He decides to stay vegan.

True, he probably never would have become vegan were it not for Kalel, but it is now a cause he is too passionate about to give up. He _likes_ having something that he believes in so strongly; likes the fact that he is making the world a slightly better place in his own way by preventing animal cruelty. He also feels so much healthier eating organically, and he can’t imagine going back to the days when he and Ian would eat fast food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He gets rid of some of his clothes, though—shirts that aren’t _him;_ shirts that Kalel had bought him to dress him up to her liking. He pulls some of his t-shirts that he had had shoved in the back of his drawers out to the front—gaming t-shirts that Kalel, always into high fashion, had side-eyed silently until he’d slowly stopped wearing them.

He makes a new shower music playlist; one that doesn’t contain songs that remind him of Kalel. He pitches the cologne she had bought him last year for his birthday and starts wearing his old cologne again.

He rearranges some of the furniture in his apartment and packs up everything Kalel had left behind. He isn’t going to go crying after her to come back to him. This is hard, but he already knows that it’s the right thing; the two of them breaking up.

Strangely enough, he thinks it is the talk with Ian that has helped the most through this whole ordeal. Whenever he starts feeling sad, he remembers the strength of belief in Ian’s voice when he had promised Anthony that there was more out there; that things were going to get better; that he deserved _more_ and that someday he’d find someone and he’d know it was right.

It still sucks, but it gets better.

That doesn’t mean he’s ready to see Kalel yet, though.

She starts calling him and texting him about a week after the break-up.

_Hey, Anthony…people on WULAS are starting to wonder where you are. We should talk._

_Anthony, we need to figure out how we want to tell people._

_Seriously, I know you’re probably pissed at me, but unless you want our possible break-up to be the trending topic on twitter, we need to say something. Everyone’s wondering._

Anthony personally thinks everyone can just go on fucking wondering, but he is getting slightly annoyed by Kalel’s constant pestering.

So towards the end of November, he agrees to meet up in early December to film a WULAS video about the break-up, which of course makes his anxiety skyrocket thinking about seeing her again.

Fortunately Ian comes down to L.A. for some Smosh stuff and to film a Thanksgiving lunchtime, and it proves to be a great distraction. They go and find vegan Thanksgiving-ish fast food and camp out in Ian’s hotel room. He had invited Ian to stay with him, of course, but Ian had already started sneezing at the cat hair in Anthony’s car, so he had politely declined.

So Anthony comes to him at the hotel, and he is the one driving in a Lunchtime episode for the first time in what must be years. As they sit in the car going to get their food, they start jokingly listing things they are thankful for this year…the white truck driving by, the fans (that’s a serious one), the weather.

At one point, Anthony glances over at Ian when they are stopped at a red light. The sunlight is illuminating Ian’s smiling face; turning the tips of his brown hair golden, a phenomenon that he has never noticed before. For a moment Anthony has the sudden thought _I am thankful for you this year._ He doesn’t say it out loud, but the sentiment of it settles in his chest, a sort of weird, warm feeling that he doesn’t really understand.

They fall asleep in the middle of editing later that night in Ian’s hotel room, each on his own side of the king bed, the laptop in between them. At some point, Anthony wakes up wondering where he is and why he is still wearing jeans before realizing that he is in the hotel editing a Lunchtime episode. He shoves the laptop onto the bedside table and curls back up to resume sleeping.

It probably should be a little weird, sharing a bed with his best friend in the dark, but it isn’t. He and Ian have certainly shared beds before—back when Smosh was just starting and they were too broke to afford nice travel accommodations; times when they’d crashed with one another after a night of drinking. It’s something that friends do sometimes, though he’s not about to let the fans know about it. He shudders to imagine the fanfictions that would arise.

What _is_ a little weird is the fact that he is so comforted by Ian’s presence just a few feet away from him in the quiet darkness of the unfamiliar room. He tells himself it’s just because he’s used to sleeping with someone else; because he’s used to Kalel’s warmth across the bed from him, but Kalel’s snoring had always annoyed him, while Ian’s is just quiet background noise that lulls him gently back to sleep.

He decides not to think about it as he shifts one more time to get comfortable and closes his eyes again.

* * *

Anthony is shaking when Kalel leaves his apartment. He honestly doesn’t know how he made it through filming their break-up video.

It had been harder than he had anticipated, seeing her again. He still doesn’t regret the break-up, but it hurt to see how happy she seems so quickly. She had seemed almost…relieved, as though she had dodged a bullet by breaking up with him.

Smiling and faking it for the camera for so long had taken a lot out of him. He can tell Kalel wants to talk; wants to ask him how he is doing, but he’s not ready. He quietly says goodbye to her and sees her out of the apartment, closing the door quickly so he doesn’t have to watch her walk away.

Before he knows it, he is in his bedroom throwing more clothes into a duffel bag, grabbing his keys, and scrawling a note to Mrs. Ritter. Then he is sitting in the car driving in the direction of Sacramento.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” is all Ian says when Anthony appears in the kitchen of the Smosh house at midnight.

This time, Anthony stays for a week. And when he leaves, he leaves behind the newest batch of clothes.

* * *

Life goes on.

December is a busy month—he thinks Ian might intentionally be scheduling lots of shoots to help keep Anthony busy, and he is grateful for it. Losing himself in editing and filming helps deal with the sting of being alone for the holidays; of having to face family members who want to hear how he’s doing after the break-up.

He goes to his dad’s for Christmas and travels back and forth between Sacramento and L.A. the rest of the time.

It isn’t until it is almost New Year’s that he comes to a realization.

He is digging through his closet, looking for a shirt that he’d gotten as a gift for his birthday, when he notices something. He only has one pair of shoes left in his closet. And over half the hangers are empty. Turning back to his bedroom in befuddlement, he opens his drawers and notices a similarly odd phenomenon.

The drawers are almost empty, and he suddenly realizes what it all means.

He doesn’t bother to pack any clothes this time. He knows where they have all gotten to, and he is about to go and find them.

He storms inside the Smosh house this time and marches right into Ian’s room. Ian is sitting on his bed, laughing at something on his laptop. He pulls out his headphones when he sees Anthony and grins in welcome.

“You’re not surprised to see me. Why aren’t you surprised?” He demands indignantly.

“Dude…you stop by all the time nowadays. It’s kind of lost its surprising effect,” Ian says, brow crinkled slightly in confusion.

Anthony turns around and strides to his bedroom, flinging open the closet door and opening up all the dresser drawers.

“You alright, man?” Ian’s voice comes from the doorway where he is leaning, watching Anthony.

“I have a ton of my shit here,” is all Anthony says.

“Yeah, I know,” Ian says as though he thinks nothing of it. He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, is this because I threw out that organic peanut butter? You’re taking up a lot of the pantry space and I needed a place to put the soup I bought.”

“I don’t give a shit about the peanut butter,” Anthony says frankly. “Ian, do I live here now? Did I move back in?”

Ian thinks for a minute. “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “At least, that was kind of what I was thinking, anyway. You are kind of here most of the time, man.” A pause. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Anthony says, wondering when exactly this had happened. “Oh my god, I’m the worst pet owner ever. Poor Pip—he must hate me. What am I going to do?”

“Bring him here,” Ian says casually, stealing a granola bar off of Anthony’s dresser and opening it. He takes a bite and quickly spits it out into the garbage can, gagging. “So organic,” he chokes, wiping his mouth and throwing the rest of the granola bar at Anthony. “Bring Pip here. Otherwise I’ll have been taking allergy medicine for nothing.”

“You’re taking allergy medicine?” Anthony asks, sitting down on his bed in surprise.

Ian nods. “I think you must have cat hair on your clothes, because it’s been making me sneeze when you’ve been staying here. So I’ve been taking allergy medicine for like a month now.”

“Oh,” Anthony says faintly, still shocked that he had made such a drastic life change without even realizing it.

Ian leaves the room and Anthony follows him to the kitchen. He watches as Ian pulls two beers out of the fridge and opens them.

“Congrats on moving back in,” Ian says, raising his bottle to clink it against Anthony’s.

And that’s that.

* * *

Anthony is drunk, but he’s pretty sure everyone else is too.

They are at Joven’s for a New Year’s Eve party, and it is nerd heaven. All the SmoshGames people are here somewhere, there’s copious amounts of alcohol available, and people are playing Mario Kart drinking games. Joven is a great host, always preoccupied with whether people are having an appropriate amount of fun.

He has been hanging out with Joven and Lasercorn for the past half an hour or so, steadily drinking himself into a state of mind that he knows he will regret tomorrow morning.

But for now he feels pretty great. All his friends are here, and wisely, nobody has asked him about Kalel. Lasercorn also has a surprisingly hot friend named Jenny who is here somewhere, and judging by the way she’d smiled at Anthony, he had a good chance of getting her number or more tonight.

“Getting close to midnight!” Lasercorn shouts over the din of the party, wrapping an arm around Brina, his wife. “Who are you guys gonna kiss?”

And just like that, the wind is knocked out of Anthony’s sails. He knows it’s stupid, but he had kissed Kalel for the past 3 New Year’s Eves at midnight, and now the thought that she is probably somewhere else, kissing some faceless other man, makes his chest hurt.

He stumbles away from the group, mumbling something about getting another drink. His beer is half-full, so he chugs it and makes his way over to the drinks table, where he throws back two shots. He is going to regret it later, probably, but right now he doesn’t want to feel anything.

He sees Jenny from across the room; sees her smile at him and begin making her way through the crowd in his direction. Her hair is long and dark, and she is tall and curvy—the opposite of Kalel.

He turns and beelines for the bathroom. He can’t kiss her; he can’t bring himself to start a new year off by kissing a random stranger. Maybe some other year, but not this one.

After finishing his business and waiting long enough that he thinks Jenny will have been deterred, he slips back into the hallway and into the foray again. The last two shots have kicked in, and the world is swimming pleasantly in his vision, his brain feeling soft and fuzzy. He watches from afar as Lasercorn draws Brina closer to his side, kissing her forehead sweetly as he says something to Mari, who’s here with her boyfriend.

He’s sad and lonely, and he doesn’t want to be. He needs something to cheer him up. He needs…

“Ian!” He shouts victoriously, spotting his best friend on the complete opposite side of the room. Ian is talking animatedly to one of Sohinki’s game developer friends, and he doesn’t hear Anthony.

So naturally, Anthony starts pushing his way through the crowd to get to Ian. People let him through, probably because he doesn’t look so great. His limbs feel heavy and slightly out-of-control, and the world has switched from swimming to spinning before his eyes.

“Ian!” He shouts again, throwing his arms around his best friend and latching on like a starfish. He has always been a clingy drunk, and Ian seems largely unperturbed, a sure sign that he too is at least somewhat drunk. He finishes saying something to Sohinki’s friend before turning to Anthony, gently detaching himself.

“Are you okay?!” Ian shouts over the din. Someone has turned on the countdown on the TV, and people are beginning to pull out their party favors.

Anthony shakes his head sadly. _“Kalel,”_ he mouths, not even bothering to shout above the noise.

Ian seems to debate for a minute, before he motions for Anthony to follow him. Anthony tries, but his limbs aren’t really cooperating. So he allows Ian to drag him away from the main area of the party and into an isolated office down the hallway.

“God, you’re plastered,” Ian says as he helps Anthony flop onto the couch. “I haven’t seen you like this since your…engagement party,” he trails off, seeming to realize that Anthony’s broken engagement might not be the most sensitive thing to reference at the moment.

“Kalel’s probably off kissing somebody else right now,” Anthony says. It comes out as sort of a wail, and Anthony knows that Ian usually hates wailing, but Ian just looks sympathetic now, patting him on the shoulder. He must truly cut a pathetic figure right now for Ian to be tolerating this.

“You gotta stop thinking about her, man,” Ian says, true wingman style. “Find somebody else to make out with tonight—that girl Jenny seems like she’d be really into you, go find her!”

“I don’t want Jenny,” Anthony says, slumping against Ian’s arm. He’s too dizzy to hold himself upright anymore. “I don’t even want Kalel,” he slurs. “I just don’t want to think about her with someone else. I gotta…I gotta call her, man. I gotta call her.”

He pushes himself into a sitting position, fumbling for his phone.

“No! No, you’ll regret it if you do,” Ian says firmly, but Anthony keeps attempting to unlock his phone with drunk, uncoordinated fingers.

Ian lunges across Anthony’s body in an attempt to grab the phone, grabbing one of Joven’s Pikachu cushions and whacking Anthony over the head with it. “Seriously, Anthony, you’ll hate yourself tomorrow if you call her—”

They break into an odd sort of wrestling match on the couch, struggling over the phone. Anthony, normally the physically stronger of the two of them, is at a distinct disadvantage on account of being shitfaced, but he somehow manages to get on top of Ian, and they are suddenly both breathless and laughing.

Suddenly the noise of the party changes drastically, and he hears party poppers and the sound of fireworks in the surrounding neighborhood. _Midnight._

It is a strange way to begin 2015, pinning Ian to a couch, but it’s not all that bad. He thinks about the start of 2014 last year; how he’d had no clue at the time what lay ahead; that he’d be breaking up with Kalel within the year. _Kalel’s probably kissing someone right now,_ his fuzzy brain tells him. _Everyone in the other room is probably kissing each other._

And then there is the strangest instant in which his eyes meet Ian’s—Ian, who is still pinned under Anthony’s weight; whose body is warm and solid beneath Anthony’s limbs. Ian, who is still laughing and grinning up at him, his eyes fond. Ian, his best friend, who has stuck with him through everything and continues to be the main constant in his life.

When their eyes meet, Anthony feels something new and unfamiliar coil deep within his stomach, and his gaze drops sharply to Ian’s lips of its own volition. He had never noticed before how nice Ian’s mouth is; how red it looks when he has been drinking and is flushed with laughter.

Anthony suddenly realizes what he is about to do, and quickly jerks away before he can move any closer to Ian’s face, his mind reeling and his stomach sick with nerves.

_Had he seriously almost just leaned in to kiss Ian?_

He jumps off of Ian so quickly that it gives him vertigo, and he ends up collapsing back onto the couch, this time sitting on his own side of the love seat. Ian coughs slightly nervously, and Anthony wonders if he had seen where Anthony’s gaze had fallen just there; if he knows what insane thought had just passed through Anthony’s head. Will this make their friendship awkward? _Oh god, why had he drank so much it is making him crazy he never would have even **thought** about kissing his best friend otherwise—_

But maybe Anthony is just being paranoid, because Ian just grins at him, although his smile is slightly strained and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We should get you home before you start puking,” Ian says bracingly, pulling Anthony to his feet. “Come on.”

Anthony protests weakly—it is only midnight; everyone will think they’re lame if they clear out this early—but he quickly recognizes the sick feeling that is rising in his stomach, and he can tell from the way the room spins even when his eyes are closed that he is going to be throwing up in the near future, and he’d rather do it at home.

So he allows Ian to say their goodbyes and pile him into an Uber. He is quiet on the ride back, his forehead pressed up against the cool glass of the window, praying that he won’t throw up in the back of the cab.

Ian helps him inside the house and everything is a blur—he remembers trying to drink water while simultaneously attempting to get a helplessly-laughing Ian to sing Spice Girls with him, vomiting into the toilet, and then shuffling to bed behind a now weary-looking Ian, who pulls his shoes off and leaves a glass of water and two aspirin on the bedside table before he leaves because he’s an awesome person.

When he awakes the next morning, he won’t remember anything about the night beyond brief flashes of singing ‘Wannabe’ in the kitchen, throwing back shots because he was sad about Kalel, and pinning Ian against Joven’s couch, looking down at him at the stroke of midnight.

Neither he or Ian ever mention that last part of the night, although they laugh about the fact that Sohinki had somehow apparently managed to hook up with Jenny as they nurse their hangovers on the couch together the next day (Anthony’s headache and regret at least five times more severe than Ian’s).

Anthony puts the strange moment on Joven’s couch out of his mind, certain that Ian has already forgotten it too. But a few days later when he gets himself off in the shower, an unexpected image of bright blue eyes fills his mind the second before he comes. He finishes cleaning himself off afterwards, feeling strangely dirty and guilty as he steps out of the shower.

He has a hard time meeting Ian’s gaze the rest of the weekend, but chooses not to think about why.

* * *

A funny thing starts happening in the months of January and February.

For the first time in a long time, Anthony is happy. Really, honestly, uncomplicatedly happy with where his life is currently. He still misses Kalel, but he comes to realize that he had been tied down by trying to make her happy; by subconsciously attempting to convince her that it was a good idea to marry him. He had sacrificed some of his own happiness to be the person he had thought she wanted him to be; had thought that if he could just be that person for her, everything would work out well.

But now he feels incredibly free; as though there had been an invisible weight tied around his ankle for years and it has now suddenly been lifted away from him, leaving him floating free in the warm ocean waves.

He’s not the only person who notices this change in himself.

It starts in the YouTube comments, and spreads like wildfire across the rest of Smosh’s internet platform.

_“Anthony and Ian seem so much closer now! Ianthony forever xxx”_

_“Omg if they did the boyfriend tag I’d fling myself off a cliff with joy! I’ve never heard either of them laugh so hard in a video before <3”_

_“Post-breakups Ianthony is strong af! Just when I was starting to give up hope…”_

_“Like dis if u cri evry FUCKING TIME IAN AND ANTHONY LOOK AT EACH OTHER.”_

It makes him uncomfortable at first, so he rewatches the videos, trying to see them through the eyes of a fan.

And to be honest, he sees what they are seeing. To a degree, anyway. He doesn’t think that he and Ian are constantly eyefucking one another as the tweets and tumblr text posts would suggest, but he can concede that they’re both a lot gigglier than usual in the new videos. And he supposes that if they wanted to avoid homoerotic subtext, they probably shouldn’t have made so many 2nd channel videos joking about handjobs and putting stuff in each other’s mouths.

It’s all sort of weird, but he doesn’t say anything to Ian because he doesn’t want to make it weirder. To be honest, he is really having fun making the kind of videos they have been doing recently, and he doesn’t want that to change.

So they keep getting dumber and dumber in their 2nd channel vids, and they keep laughing harder and harder, and the fans keep talking more and more. If Ian notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Towards the end of February when they are both in L.A. for the week, Ian comes over to Anthony’s apartment for a Chipotle lunch/dinner, and they decide to film a Lunchtime episode.

After sitting around for a few hours and editing afterwards, Anthony decides he is hungry again, for pizza this time. Normally he tries to eat pretty healthily and _not_ have two dinners, but he had gone on an extra-long run earlier that day, and Ian never has to be asked twice if he wants pizza.

He balks slightly when Anthony hopefully suggests the new vegan pizza place that has just opened up a few miles away, however, but Anthony manages to talk him around to the idea.

“I promise you if you don’t like this pizza, I’ll buy your next five pizzas for you,” Anthony solemnly vows. Ian considers it for a minute before holding out his hand to bind the promise with equal solemnity, unable to resist the potential of five free pizzas in his future.

It’s stupid because they have more than enough money to buy five pizzas or even five hundred if they wanted (though their accountant probably wouldn’t be too thrilled if he had to balance the budget after that), but that’s how the two of them have always operated—the more ridiculous something is, the funnier it is.

They resume editing for about a half an hour until a knock at the door has them both hopping up hopefully. Grabbing a handful of cash from his wallet, he opens the door to find…Kalel.

He feels a little stupid, standing there holding a wad of money and staring at her vacantly.

Ian stops short behind him, his socks slipping on the smooth wood floor. He windmills his arms furiously for a few seconds, looking like some sort of crazed ostrich as he reflexively grabs Anthony’s arm and almost pulls him down too.

Anthony manages to right them, however, and the three of them stand there staring at one another in dumb silence. Kalel looks less than impressed, but she lets herself in, expression cool.

“You’re not the pizza guy,” Anthony says, and it’s a beat too late for the joke to be at all funny. Ian laughs nervously, though, and Anthony reproachfully kicks him in the back of the knee as he follows Kalel to the kitchen.

Kalel seats herself and begins tapping her fingers on the countertop. Anthony sees her look quite pointedly at Ian and then back at Anthony, eyebrows raised. It takes him a minute to realize that she doesn’t want Ian here; that she is trying to tell Anthony to kick Ian out so they can talk.

Anthony pretends he doesn’t see her body language.

Kalel’s mask is temporarily shattered when she sees Pip, however, and she scoops him up and begins cooing at him and nuzzling him. It hurts Anthony less than he thought it would; seeing her in his apartment again cuddled up to Pip.

“I heard you were in town,” she says, looking in better spirits now that she has been reunited with the cat, who curls up against her as though she has never been gone. “So I thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to talk.”

There is another knock at the door and Ian looks between the two of them before grabbing the money out of Anthony’s hand.

“I’ll go get that,” he says to no one in particular, disappearing.

“Anthony, do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” Kalel asks pointedly when Ian is somewhat out of earshot.

“I’m not kicking Ian out,” Anthony says staunchly. “Sorry, Kalel, but you’re the one who came over uninvited at 10 PM. We were working.” His voice is gentle but firm.

A tiny line appears between Kalel’s eyebrows. “I hear you’re back to living with him; surely he wouldn’t mind leaving for a few hours—”

“I’m not asking him to leave,” Anthony says stubbornly. He doesn’t know why he feels so strongly about it, but this whole exchange feels largely symbolic in nature—Kalel is asking him, even in this one small way, to choose her over Ian, and he won’t do it. He doesn’t owe her anything.

“Do you want me to leave?” is what Ian immediately asks when he returns with the pizza.

“No—”

“Maybe—”

Anthony and Kalel chorus simultaneously.

“Look, Ian, I’m sorry to crash your guys’ night, but I haven’t seen Anthony in ages and I’d really like to talk to him. You understand, right?” Kalel asks while Anthony death glares at her.

“Don’t listen to her, Ian. You don’t have to go; we still have a ton of editing to do—”

Ian looks between the two of them cautiously. “I’ll just go, Anthony. It’s okay, really—I saved the video to my flash drive earlier so I’ll just go back to my hotel room and work on it tonight.”

“No, really, Ian, you should stay,” Anthony insists.

“I think it would be good for the two of you to talk,” Ian says slowly. “See you, Kalel.” He nods at her and grabs the box of pizza. “I’m taking this with me, by the way—sorry, Ant!” Then he grins and is gone, and Anthony is left all alone with Kalel.

“So I see you two are still stuck up each other’s asses,” Kalel comments nonchalantly.

“We’re best friends, Kalel,” Anthony sighs, wondering why he always has to explain this to people.

“He always made you happy in a way I couldn’t,” Kalel says suddenly, staring out the windows into the darkness. “You were _my_ best friend the whole time we were dating, but I never was yours. It was always him.”

Anthony gapes at her, wondering where this is coming from—Kalel had never been Ian’s biggest fan, but now it almost sounds like she is… _jealous_ of him. Kalel, with her perfect sense of fashion and perfect blond hair and perfect smile, jealous of _Ian,_ who regularly wears hoodies in his late 20s, sometimes mysteriously smells like coffee even though he doesn’t drink it, and has had the same hairstyle for more than ten years.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kalel,” Anthony finally says numbly.

Kalel sighs, her hand coming to rest on his forearm. She suddenly looks very weary, as though the cheery, carefree, glad-to-be-single image she has been portraying since November is all just one exhausting act. “I didn’t come here with any ulterior motive, Anthony. I meant it when I said I wanted us to still be friends, and I just feel like you’ve been shutting me out for _months_ now, so when I heard you were in town, I thought I’d swing by—”

She takes a shuddery breath, looking teary, and Anthony feels a bit of his guard slip. He has never been good with people crying in front of him, and he doesn’t like watching Kalel in pain.

“I just—I miss you, Anthony. It was stupid to come here—I can see you’re not ready to talk to me yet. But I hope we can be friends someday, honestly.”

“I hope that too,” he says, and he is surprised to find that he means it. “But you’re right—I’m not ready. Not now. Maybe not for a long time.”

Kalel just nods, wiping at her eyes. She has a bit of mascara smeared under them, and just a mere matter of months ago he would have brushed her tears away and kissed her cheeks and held her while she cried. Now he stiffly accepts her embrace.

“Let me know when you’re ready to see me again,” she whispers as she draws away.

He nods.

“Oh,” she says, face falling slightly. “One more thing.” She fumbles in her purse for a minute before emerging with a small black box.

Anthony’s heart sinks as she somberly passes him the engagement ring.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” Kalel says quietly, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek before quickly turning and walking away, showing herself out; not looking back.

Anthony stands there frozen for a moment after the door clicks shut, and then he sinks to the floor, leaning his back against the counter, wrapping his arms around his legs.

He feels…he doesn’t really know how he feels. Sort of empty, maybe; like a well that has been run dry.

From his spot on the floor, he can see his bed, covers slightly messy; pillows out of place. He thinks about how lonely it will be tonight; how lonely it is sleeping alone every night.

Suddenly he knows exactly where he wants to be right now, and he grabs his jacket and keys and hits the road, shoving the ring box in the desk drawer he never uses before he leaves.

* * *

Ian clearly hadn’t been expecting Anthony to follow him back to his hotel room at midnight, because when he answers the door, he is wearing a white bathrobe. It is tied loosely around his waist, and Anthony can see that the only thing Ian has on under is a pair of navy blue boxer briefs.

For some reason it makes him feel too warm in his own skin, and he quickly tears his gaze away from his friend’s bare chest, dragging it up to Ian’s surprised face.

“Hey, you okay?” Ian asks, drawing the robe closer and stepping back to let Anthony inside.

“Of course,” Anthony says curtly, not meeting Ian’s concerned gaze. “I’m only here because you took my pizza and I want it back.”

“Right,” Ian says, motioning to the box that is open on the end of the bed. “Well, what did Kalel end up wanting? Sorry to abandon you, but she seemed like she wanted to talk.” Anthony knows Ian well enough to know that there is an unspoken question in that last sentence— _what had that been about; why had Anthony been so oddly insistent that Ian stick around when Kalel clearly wanted him to leave?_

Anthony ignores it. “She just wanted to see how I was doing. And give me the ring back.”

Ian winces. “That’s rough, man,” he says earnestly. “Look, I’m going to hop in the shower really quick, but we can raid the mini-fridge when I’m done and comment anonymously on a bunch of her makeup tutorial videos if you want. Nothing like a little bit of trolling to make you feel better, right?”

Anthony laughs and takes a slice of pizza but his chest hurts slightly, and the food tastes like sawdust.

He puts the slice back and lays down on the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the comforting thrum of the shower in the adjacent room. He can faintly hear Ian humming Saria’s Song from Ocarina of Time, and all of a sudden he is very, very tired.

He tells himself he is just going to close his eyes for a second while he waits for Ian, but somewhere in between when Saria’s Song transitions into Requiem of Spirit, he must drift off to sleep.

His bed back at his apartment is cold and lonely that night, just as he had feared, but it’s not because he sleeps alone in it. Instead, it’s because he had found someone else to share a different bed with.

* * *

When Anthony awakes, his first thought is that he never wants to move again.

He processes each sensation he is feeling one by one, enjoying the feeling of waking up inch by inch. He is laying on a mattress that makes him think of fluffy white clouds; the pixelated kind that appear in the background of Super Mario games. The pillow his head is resting on is just the right amount of plumpness, and his body is comfortingly slotted against the solid warmth of another human.

His eyes shoot open the second he completes that last thought, and he is met with the sight of an unmistakably familiar brown bowl cut, very near to his face.

It takes all of his self-control not to completely tense up and fling himself off the bed and out the nearest window, but he is pretty sure Ian is still asleep and he doesn’t want to wake him and _holy fuck he is spooning with his best friend what is happening—_

He forces himself to take deep, even breaths, matching the rhythm of the rise and fall of Ian’s shoulders, which are pressed against Anthony’s chest. Thank god he had fallen asleep fully clothed, and Ian had fully dressed himself after his shower. The mental image of the two of them laying in this same position with their bare skin touching sends a weird shiver of heat through his body, and he quickly refocuses his attention on matching Ian’s breaths.

He had done this once before, much earlier in their friendship and not in so awkward a cuddling position. It was back when his panic attacks were still really bad; when he hid them from everyone but himself, usually choosing to shut himself in his room alone or lock himself in the nearest bathroom to deal with them.

But Ian had known about them, of course, because Ian knew everything about him. One night at a party Anthony had felt the familiar clawing tightness at his throat, and his face must have gone white and tense, because Ian had dragged him out of the crowded room and behind some bushes in the host’s backyard.

 _“Breathe, Anthony,”_ he’d said, looking pained as he’d watched his friend struggle. _“You’ve gotta breathe, man.”_

But Anthony had continued gasping for air, and Ian had looked increasingly desperate until he’d grabbed Anthony’s hands and put them on Ian’s shoulders.

 _“Feel my shoulders rise and fall and match my breathing!”_ Ian had implored him, taking steady, measured breaths.

It had taken a few minutes, but eventually it became easier for Anthony to copy Ian’s breathing pattern, and they’d stood there in the garden for long minutes, posed in a weird middle school slow-dance position.

Eventually Anthony had taken a step closer and leaned his forehead closer so that it rested lightly on Ian’s right collarbone. After so many years of struggling alone to control his panic attacks, the unspoken offer of comfort was too much to pass up.

And they’d just breathed together in the moonlight, the rest of the world melting away; a moment of perfect silence.

He is reminded of the moment all these years later, feeling Ian breathe in a much different capacity.

Ian had definitely migrated to Anthony’s side of the bed at some point in the night, because Anthony is almost pressed up to the edge of the bed on his side. But it is clear that Anthony had been the one to initiate the spooning—he has his right arm slung around Ian’s waist, securely holding Ian to his body.

He feels torn in a million different directions—one on hand, this is weird as fuck: he’s pretty sure guy friends don’t spoon like this, no matter how long they’ve been friends or how close they are. On the other hand, it’s incredibly comfortable and he’d be content to just lay like this for the foreseeable future.

 _God, he must really suck at being single if he enjoys spooning with **Ian** of all people, _he tells himself, but it sounds sort of hollow in his mind.

He tenses as he realizes that Ian might have woken at some point in the night and found himself in this position—and oh god, what if Ian wakes up and notices them laying like this and notices that Anthony is awake and isn’t pulling away?

His sudden tensing seems to create a self-fulfilling prophecy, because Ian lets out a little sigh in his sleep and shifts further back into Anthony’s embrace, the length of his body pressing intriguing against Anthony’s own frame and—

_Fuck it, he can’t do this anymore._

He quickly slips his arm off of Ian and rolls away in one motion, hopping off his side of the bed; quick like ripping off a band-aid. He remains frozen for a minute, barely breathing until Ian lets out a little grumble and resumes snoring, rolling slightly back towards his own side of the hotel bed.

Anthony is in desperate need of a cold shower, but he doesn’t want to take one because he isn’t a thirteen-year-old boy, and he refuses to pander to his body’s ridiculous behavior. Instead he paces around in the bathroom as he brushes his teeth, willing himself to think of other things. Snow, getting a report card on the last day of school, his grandma in her bathing suit, Ian crossdressing in one of their many Smosh videos…no, maybe that last one is a mistake.

When he finally has his stupid body under control, he slips out of the room to go on a run in the rain. It is still early, barely six in the morning, and the streets are empty and wide under his anxious feet.

When he gets back to the hotel, it is nearly eight and Ian is still peacefully asleep.

Anthony grabs his keys and leaves still dripping wet from the rain. He doesn’t bother leaving a note or waking Ian up to say goodbye.

             

               

               


	2. 2

They don’t talk again until they are both back in Sacramento at the Smosh house a few days later, and even then, it is stilted and awkward.

All of the discomfort comes from Anthony’s end, so he’s guessing that Ian doesn’t know about them spooning in the hotel the other night.

“You alright?” Ian asks when he wanders into the house a few hours after Anthony had arrived. “I was surprised when you disappeared the other morning and didn’t call me. Weren’t we supposed to try and fit another Lunchtime filming in while we were both in L.A.?” His face looks puzzled, a small line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Well, you didn’t call me either,” Anthony says coolly, instantly regretting the tone and the words as soon as he says them. Ian had been genuinely enquiring after Anthony’s wellbeing, and he has to go and be an asshole. As usual.

Sure enough, the worry on Ian’s face is replaced by irritation. “Whatever, man,” he grunts. “I don’t know why I even bother—” he doesn’t finish the sentence, throwing his jacket on a coat hook with more force than necessary and removing himself to his bedroom, where he closes the door with a smart snap.

Anthony is left alone, and he heaves a sigh of frustration with himself. Ian had looked tired, and Anthony has known since they took their first road trip at the age of 18 that Ian doesn’t like long car rides alone. Driving up from L.A. had probably made him crabby.

And Anthony being a weird bastard isn’t helping either. He doesn’t know how to _act_ around Ian right now. He is so used to the status quo they have had since they were in 6th grade, and now to have the additional _feelings_ in the mix complicates things.

Still, he can’t just let Ian be pissed at him. That isn’t how the two of them operate—they don’t fight like that, plain and simple.

Being best friends for so long means that they know exactly how to push and annoy each other, and spending so much time filming and editing together means that tempers run high and they sometimes spend _too_ much time together. In those moments, both of them will snap at one another, although to be honest, Anthony has the shorter fuse of the two of them. When Ian gets mad, it’s typically not over some small detail or petty comment. And usually Anthony deserves it. But they are always quick to make up, no matter how grave the offense.

Perhaps it is the years of shared history that make it easy to forgive small slights; perhaps it is the unspoken feeling between the two of them that there is something inevitable and permanent tying their lives together; that they will never cease being best friends, so there is no point in fighting or hating each other.

It has barely been five minutes, and Anthony already feels the stress of being in a fight with Ian stirring in his stomach. So he swallows his pride and knocks on Ian’s door.

There is no answer, but Anthony pushes the door open anyway. They’ve never had much regard for one another’s privacy.

Ian is sitting on his bed with his headphones in, scowling at his laptop screen.

“I know, Mel, but he doesn’t—”

Ian’s voice dies abruptly when he sees Anthony standing there, and Anthony reflexively takes a step back at the look on Ian’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt; I’ll just come back—”

Ian hesitates a moment and then sighs wearily. “No, it’s fine,” he says, motioning for Anthony to sit before turning back to his screen. “Look, Mel, I’ve got to go. Catch up some other time?”

Something unpleasant twists in Anthony’s stomach when he realizes that Ian is video-chatting with Melanie right now.He hadn’t known that they were still talking, and it sort of bothers him for some reason. Are they getting back together? And had the two of them been talking about Anthony when he’d entered the room?

Feeling slightly paranoid, Anthony takes a tentative seat on Ian’s bed as Ian finishes saying goodbye to Melanie and shuts his laptop.

Finally Ian is staring at him expectantly, and Anthony shoves away his current feeling of strong dislike towards Melanie, focusing on his best friend.

“Sorry,” Anthony says. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Ian eyes him speculatively. “I don’t really give a shit about that. I’m in a crappy mood too, to be honest.”

Anthony senses a ‘but’ and tries not to tense as he waits for the words.

“But you’ve been acting a little…weird,” Ian says delicately. “And different around me the past few months; ever since the holidays. Sometimes you look at me and I feel like you’re trying to stare through my skull at my brain. So if there’s something I’ve done…”

Anthony tries to keep his expression calm; to not blanch, but he’s not sure he’s entirely successful. He had known that that stupid moment on New Year’s Eve was always going to come back to bite him in the ass.

“Sorry,” Anthony says, scrambling for an excuse. “I’ve just been trying to figure out a lot of stuff since I broke up with Kalel. You haven’t done anything. So, are you and Mel still talking?” He hopes the abrupt subject change will derail this current conversation, of course. And maybe a tiny part of him wants the scoop on Mel. Maybe.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Ian smiles, and Anthony’s heart sinks for some reason. “We’re doing really great right now.”

_Oh._ So maybe they _are_ getting back together then.

“Cool,” Anthony says weakly, suddenly needing very much to be alone with his thoughts. “Anyway, I should go unpack my stuff. Just wanted to apologize for earlier.”

Ian waves him off, appearing to be in much better spirits now that he’s talked to _Melanie._

“We’re cool. Hey, we haven’t hung out in like two days. You want to watch a Transformers movie later?” Ian asks as he opens up his laptops and untangles his headphones again.

Anthony pauses a beat at the obvious peace offering. “Yeah, sure,” he says, because even when he doesn’t want to be around Ian, he wants to be around Ian.

* * *

Anthony comes to an important realization that night as he watches Ian sleep on the other end of the couch, neck slumped over in an uncomfortable-looking position and mouth slightly open.

He might sort of have a crush on his best friend.

He doesn’t exactly know how or when it had happened—all he knows is that at some point between breaking up with Kalel and the moment when he’d thought of kissing Ian on New Year’s Eve and the morning he’d woken up wrapped around Ian in the L.A. hotel room, he’d realized that his best friend is an attractive man.

He feels like he is using the word ‘weird’ a lot lately to describe things he is thinking and feeling, but his life is very weird right now.

It just doesn’t make _sense._

Shia Labeouf is transforming shit on the screen across the room, and he knows on an intellectual level that Shia Labeouf is widely considered to be an attractive man. But Anthony isn’t really attracted to him.

But then he looks over at Ian, who has crumbs on his shirt and is now drooling slightly, and a rush of affection and warmth pools in his stomach. He wants to reach over and brush the hair out of Ian’s face; wants to slot his body in with Ian’s and fall asleep entangled in his limbs again because that night at the hotel and had been one of the best nights of sleep he could ever remember having.

He’s kissed a few guys before, always while drunk, and it had been nice—equally as nice as kissing girls—but he’d never let it get to the point of actually hooking up with any of said guys. Now he wonders if he’d been missing out this entire time; if this is something that he’s wanted for a long time but hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge.

He’d been called gay a lot in high school and it had always really bothered him—it was his high-pitched laugh, the fact that he was joined at the hip with Ian, his emo hair and band t-shirts. These things marked him as different, and that marked him as someone the popular kids could attack.

Is it possible he’d just repressed all those feelings as a defense mechanism back then; that he had never really allowed himself to deal with them since then? He thinks of all the times he and Ian have emphatically denied being in a relationship or being romantically inclined towards one another. What was it his mom had always said? _Sometimes those who talk the loudest hide the most._

He chances another glance at Ian before pulling out his phone and opening up the browser. He finds it ironic that he is turning to Google for help when he and Ian have made several 2nd channel videos making fun of people’s obscure Google searches, but with slightly trembling fingers, he types letter-by-letter into the search bar: “how do I know if I like my best friend?”

* * *

He quickly decides that he will never let on about his new revelation to Ian.

It’s not worth the risk to their friendship. Especially if Ian is probably getting back together with Melanie—he definitely doesn’t have time for his pathetically single best friend to be crushing on him like a junior high boy.

So Anthony just tries to act as normal as possible. Their videos are slightly more subdued, but nobody seems to notice, except the fangirls on tumblr, and they have always noticed things that Anthony himself, who films and edits most of their videos, doesn’t even notice.

It’s the little moments that make him aware that he is getting in deeper and deeper over his head with Ian, and even though he knows it’s a bad idea, he can do nothing to stop the way he feels.

On a Monday in March, for example, Ian comes back from visiting his mom with a tin of homemade cookies and an ancient rolled-up poster. He summons Anthony to the kitchen and then dramatically unfurls the paper on their kitchen table.

“Oh my god, are you trying to infect everything in this house with asbestos? Put that thing away!” Anthony exclaims, coughing at the mere sight of the dusty paper.

“Anthony, Anthony, have you learned nothing since our 6th grade science project?” Ian sighs, shaking his head sadly. “Paper can’t contain asbestos. Maybe if you read this report on recycling and landfills, it would clear up your misconceptions.”

Anthony squints at the paper, confused, until the realization dawns on him. The writing on the paper is faded, but he suddenly recognizes the untidy scrawl and the sloppy drawings of poop and flies, any 6th grade boy’s idea of quality artwork.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Is that—”

“—our poster from 6th grade science class? Yeah, my mom found it when she was cleaning out the attic last week.”

“Holy shit,” Anthony repeats. His eyes skim over the poster, but he is not really seeing it. Instead all he can see is the image of Ian at eleven years old, the new kid in school; all pale, skinny limbs and floppy brown hair. He remembers how they’d pushed their chairs together during every class period when they were supposed to be working and had talked about video games instead; how he’d been annoyed at having to work with the new kid until he’d found out that the new kid had a GameBoy color and hated school as much as he did.

More than fifteen years later, they stand and survey the poster together solemnly for a long minute until Ian voices exactly what Anthony is thinking.

“It’s crazy thinking all the way back to then…who would have thought we’d even still know each other fifteen years later, let alone be living together and having our dream jobs together?”

“Good thing Mrs. Jackson made us work together…he must have known that we both had a lineup of similarly bad haircuts in our future and thought we’d make a good team.”

Ian grins and picks the poster back up, bringing it over to the refrigerator.

Anthony watches with his heart full of quiet affection as Ian carefully hangs up their poster on the refrigerator in the same space where a picture of Anthony and Kalel had once hung.

It looks _right_ ; the empty space filled by the expanse of faded yellowish paper; a monument to the beginnings of their friendship.

When the sun shines through the kitchen window at the right angle, Anthony can see the gold in Ian’s hair and can just barely make out the C- emblazoned in a fading red on the top corner of their poster.

* * *

On a Thursday in April, they are in a meeting with the business side of Smosh.

These meetings have never been something that Anthony is comfortable with: the large, formal boardroom setting, all the talk of finance with fancy words Anthony doesn’t really understand—it is not the kind of life Ian and Anthony are used to. These aren’t their people.

“Numbers have been stable,” one of their investors, a forty-year-old man with all the personality of a shriveled up flower, drones. Anthony wonders why they had hired this guy—he is terribly condescending and arrogant every time they have these meetings, always critical of how Anthony and Ian are handling their affairs. “Profit margins have dipped slightly—almost three percent since last quarter—”

“Sorry,” Anthony interrupts. “What does that mean exactly? Is it bad?”

There is a pause and then the investor sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses, looking deeply irritated to have been cut-off midstream.

“Yes, a dip in the margins is a negative thing; although it’s not unexpected this time of the year. Maybe you should find the time to take a college course on finance, Mr. Padilla, instead of spending so much time playing video games. I hear there is a nice community college here in the neighborhood that might be to your…liking,” the man sneers, condescension fairly dripping from his tone.

It’s a fairly offensive thing to say to someone, and Anthony feels his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He doesn’t see how it’s annoying for him to ask his investor to clarify something regarding his business—it’s a part of the man’s job duties. If something is going on with Smosh’s profits, then Anthony wants to know about it. He opens his mouth to say as much to the investor in no uncertain terms, but Ian beats him to it, suddenly on his feet.

“You’re fired,” Ian snaps, and Anthony watches him in amazement. “You can’t say that shit to him. He’s one of the owners of Smosh, if you’ve forgotten. Come on, Anthony. These meetings are stupid, anyway.”

He grabs Anthony by the elbow, and Anthony can tell that Ian is genuinely angry by the strength of his grip.

“God, that guy is such a douchebag,” Ian says when they are out in the hallway. He almost looks a little shy, as though he’s embarrassed that he had gotten so defensive on his behalf. “He’s just jealous that we make good money and he actually has to work to afford his stupid Lexus. I’ve been wanting to do that for years—we seriously need to change the structure of how we handle the money around here.”

Anthony feels like his skin is burning where Ian had touched him. “Yeah, those meetings are pointless,” he says, following Ian and still feeling amazed by how angry Ian had gotten.

“As if you couldn’t get in to whatever college you wanted if you wanted to!” Ian mutters as they walk out to the car.

Anthony doesn’t think he’s supposed to have heard it, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

* * *

On a Sunday in May, Anthony is packing to head over to his mom’s for Mother’s Day.

“Hey,” Ian says, poking his head into Anthony’s room. “You going home?”

Anthony nods, shoving a clean pair of clothes into his overnight bag.

“You mind if I tag along? I haven’t seen your mom in ages, and my mom went to visit my sister for the weekend.”

“Of course you can come,” Anthony says, surprised. It has been ages since he went to see Ian’s mom and Ian went to see Anthony’s mom. When they had both been in relationships, neither had had time for his own family, much less each other’s families. “My mom asks about you all the time.”

“Cool,” Ian says. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.”

And so that is how Anthony finds himself at his childhood home with Ian and his mom on Mother’s Day.

The late spring weather is beautiful, and they sit outside on the back patio all afternoon, catching up with Anthony’s mom. Anthony is pretty sure Leezah is more excited to see Ian than she is to see Anthony, but he doesn’t really mind. He just enjoys the peaceful conversation.

When Ian tells some joke that makes Anthony’s mom laugh, Anthony is struck by how _right_ this feels; the three of them sitting together—the two closest, most important people in Anthony’s life enjoying a spring day together. With Kalel, visits home had always been nerve-wracking—Kalel worrying about impressing Leezah, and Anthony worrying about Leezah liking Kalel. With Ian, it’s effortless.

When his mom goes inside to get some matches to fire up the grill, Ian turns to Anthony.

“Thanks for letting me come, by the way. I’ve missed this.”

Ian’s smile is radiant, and any number of cheesy, heartfelt comments rise up in Anthony’s chest.

So he just grins in response instead of saying anything, enjoying the sunshine.

* * *

The spring months slide by quietly and uneventfully, but by summer Anthony feels like he is burning up inside with the weight of his secret. Part of him is dying to tell someone, just to get it off his chest. But the other part of him vows to take this stupid crush to the grave.

Which is why he feels very torn when Mari calls him on it.

It is June and they have just filmed another Game Bang. He and Mari had been the two losers of the day, and they’d had to do a stupid punishment on camera. Unfortunately, they’d all also agreed off-camera beforehand that the losers were going to have to edit the video.

So that’s how he finds himself at the Smosh offices with Mari after everyone else has left. He doesn’t mind, really—Mari is one of his best female friends and he doesn’t see her as often now that he is living in Sacramento again. They make a food run before settling in to work, and for a while, all that can be heard is companionable silence, the click of the keyboard, and the crinkling of food wrappers.

“So,” Mari says conversationally after crumpling her hamburger wrapper into a little ball and tossing it into the trash. “When are you going to tell Ian you like him?”

Anthony chokes on his black bean veggie burger.

“You okay?” Mari asks, reaching over to thump him on the back.

“ _What_ did you just ask me?” Anthony gapes, coughing.

“If you were okay?”

“No, not _that._ The other thing!”

“Oh, Anthony,” Mari laughs. “If you can’t even acknowledge what the ‘other thing’ is, then you’re in deeper than I thought, my friend.”

“I don’t like Ian,” Anthony automatically denies, feeling the tips of his ears heat up.

Mari rolls her eyes. “The evidence doesn’t lie,” she says, pointing at the computer screen, where a clip is playing of Anthony scowling jealously as Lasercorn slings an arm around Ian’s shoulders and picks him for his team.

“I was just mad that our team got stuck with Joven,” Anthony protests. The video clip continues, muted, in the background of their conversation. Anthony watches as though unable to look away as his virtual self stares across the game room at Ian with what is unmistakably a wistful expression.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Mari grins.

“Shit,” Anthony says. “You know.”

Mari nods cheerily. “Yep! And I approve 200%!”

“Mari, you can’t tell anyone. Seriously, you have to swear it. If Ian ever found out—”

“What, you mean you’re not planning on telling him? God, I was just about finished with my ‘Ianthony is real’ t-shirt design!”

The scary thing is that he can’t tell if she’s joking or not about the t-shirt. “Of course I’m not telling him,” he hisses. “Ian is _straight,_ if you haven’t noticed, and this is the kind of thing that ruins platonic friendships.”

Mari looks thoughtful. “I don’t know, Anthony. People have been noticing the way you and Ian look at each other for _years,_ and it’s taken you this long to see it for yourself. Maybe Ian just needs more time.”

Anthony shakes his head, acutely aware of the way his chest aches when he thinks about the fact that he can never tell Ian about this part of him; that he’s always going to have to hide away a part of who he is and how he feels from his best friend. “He’s talking to Melanie again. They video chat all the time and they’re always whispering with each other about something. It won’t be long before they’re back together, mark my words.”

Mari looks puzzled. “Really? Because I’m friends with Mel, and she said—well, never mind,” Mari trails off. “Look, I’d never say anything to anybody without your permission. I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” She reaches over and gives him a sideways hug, and they stay like that for a minute.

“You know what you need?” Mari continues cheerfully. “You need something to take your mind off of all of this. You should stay for the weekend; I’m throwing Peter a birthday party Saturday night. It’ll be just the thing to help you loosen up!”

Anthony already feels much lighter now that someone else shares the knowledge of his secret, and he is surprised to find himself agreeing to the invitation. Ian is planning on heading back to Sacramento Friday, so he won’t be around for Anthony to pine over. Peter, Mari’s boyfriend, is cool, and Anthony could use a night of heavy drinking.

“It’s settled then. Come on, smile a little bit! It’ll be fun, Anthony, I promise,” Mari beams.

* * *

“Fuck you, Mari,” Anthony hisses as he refills his drink.

“I didn’t know, Anthony! I swear, I didn’t know he was coming! He must have changed his mind about leaving early!” Mari looks so genuinely dismayed as she looks across the sea of people to the front door where Ian has just walked in that Anthony forgives her.

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “Hey, pass that back to me! I need to increase the ratio of jack to coke in this drink by about 300 percent.”

Mari rolls her eyes and passes back the fifth of rum she’d taken from his hands to fill her own cup.

“Would you just calm down and act normally?” Mari whispers. “He’s your best friend, it’s not like you’ve never been at a party with him before.”

“Yes, but last time I was at a party with him—” Anthony quickly shuts his mouth. “I mean, never mind. You’re right.”

“Whoa, wait—what happened last time you were at a party with Ian?” Mari asks, her mouth open with surprise. Anthony is already walking away—New Year’s Eve is _not_ something he wants to think about right now, especially since he is already fairly drunk.

“What happened?!” Mari shouts after him, but he is already lost in the crowd, chugging his drink. From across the room, Ian catches his eye and smiles, raising his hand to wave.

Anthony pretends not to see him.

* * *

Anthony had thought continuing to get drunk and avoiding Ian would be the best way to handle the rest of the evening, but as it turns out, fate wants to fuck him over.

It is now almost four in the morning, and they are the last two standing at the party, except for a few people who are passed out for the night on the sofas and other random pieces of furniture.

“Sorry, guys,” Mari says, yawning and picking up various solo cups. Peter had disappeared to his and Mari’s bedroom about an hour ago. “I don’t know where that Uber I called for you two is, and the number I tried to check on it didn’t work. Why don’t you just crash here for the night?”

Ian shrugs and nods, looking exhausted.

_Bad idea, bad idea,_ Anthony’s mind screams, but he has no plausible reason to say no to Mari’s offer, so he just remains silent.

“Cool, you guys can take the guest bedroom. There’s extra blankets in the closet if you want them.”

Then Mari is gone and Ian and Anthony are left staring at the full-size bed in the guest room. This will be the smallest bed they have ever shared, and Anthony already feels uncomfortable thinking about sleeping next to Ian but not being able to touch him.

It is hard on the best of days to keep his feelings for Ian hidden, but when he’s drunk and tired and his guard is lowered, all he wants to do is claim Ian’s mouth with his own; to press Ian into the mattress and—

“You getting in bed?” Ian asks, his voice flat as he holds the covers open for Anthony.

Anthony stumbles forward into the bed, carefully aligning his body as far to the edge as possible.

“Why were you avoiding me all night?” Ian asks unhappily in the relative safety of darkness. He can tell from the sound of Ian’s voice that he has rolled to face the wall.

Anthony head is swimming pleasantly. “Not avoiding you,” he murmurs.

“Yes, you were,” Ian snaps. “You’re being weird again. Every time I’d look at you, you’d practically run in the opposite direction.”

Anthony rolls back over so that he is staring at the back of Ian’s head.

“Your hair is like a bowl, Ian,” he mumbles, distantly aware that he is not making much sense and is probably heading into dangerous territory. “I want to eat cereal out of it.”

Ian sighs. “You’re just drunk. Go to sleep, Anthony.”

“S’nice, Ian. Your hair is a pretty bowl,” Anthony giggles.

“Shut up,” Ian grumbles. “I’m going to sleep and not listening to you anymore.”

There is silence for about ten seconds, and Anthony gets the feeling that he has done something to hurt Ian’s feelings.

“Ian,” he whispers loudly. “Ian, are you asleep?”

“I wish,” Ian groans.

There is another beat of silence. “I can’t sleep, Ian. You’re mad at me.”

Ian sighs in exasperation. “I’m not mad,” he says, his voice softening slightly. “Why don’t you just count sheep or something?”

“I can’t,” Anthony says plaintively. “It would be unethical treatment of sheep.”

“Oh my god,” Ian exhales, flipping over so that he is facing Anthony. “You’re just counting them, you’re not eating them or owning them. Shut up and go to sleep or I’ll replace your fake meat products with real ones without telling you.”

“But Ian—” Anthony whines.

“I’m going to buy you a leather coat for your birthday if you don’t let me sleep,” Ian says, but he sounds like he wants to laugh.

Anthony realizes that there is a moonbeam from the window—a fucking _moonbeam;_ Christ, this is like something out of a movie—illuminating a sliver of Ian’s face. In that moment, Ian looks _perfect,_ his features relaxed and peaceful with sleepiness, his eyes bright in contrast with the darkness.

And Anthony knows it’s a terrible idea, but there is a sudden fire in his belly, a feeling that he is going to fall apart and disintegrate into thin air if he doesn’t somehow act on the affection welling up in his chest.

So he leans in and kisses Ian. Hard.

It isn’t what a first kiss should be—it is sloppy and the angle is all wrong and Ian isn’t kissing back; he’s just frozen in shock. But his lips taste just as Anthony had imagined they would, and there is a brief instant where he _swears_ that Ian is actually leaning into it; that he’s kissing Anthony back, when—

Strong hands shove him away so hard that Anthony falls off the small bed.

“Fuck you,” Ian swears, his voice a low growl that Anthony has never heard before.

He instantly knows that he has done something terrible; something unforgivable.

“Fuck you, Anthony,” Ian spits again, furiously jumping off the bed and beginning to gather his sweatshirt and wallet and shoes.

“Ian, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—just let me explain—” Anthony babbles, feeling tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Please, Ian, just let me explain—”

“You think I’m some sort of fucking joke? You think it’s okay for me to be some big sexual experiment for you, Anthony? You know what, don’t fucking talk to me anymore,” Ian’s voice is low and harsh, and Anthony has never felt smaller in his entire life.

“Please,” he says, trying to grab Ian’s arm; to make him stay and listen to Anthony’s explanation; to make him listen to Anthony’s confession that yeah, he has a stupid crush on Ian, but that it doesn’t have to change things between them; that he’ll get over it.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Ian wrenches his arm away and disappears, slamming the bedroom door behind him. A few seconds later, Anthony hears the door to the apartment slam and he buries his face in his hands.

Mari appears in the doorway a few seconds later, looking like she had just been awakened by their noise. Anthony can tell that a sharp warning for them to shut up is on her lips, but it quickly dies when she sees the expression on Anthony’s face and the empty bed.

“I ruined everything,” Anthony says. He thinks he might be crying, but he doesn’t care. “I kissed him, Mari, and he flipped out. He’s never going to forgive me; he’s never going to want to be friends with me again.”

Mari crouches on the floor next to him and pulls his head to her shoulder, wrapping a comforting arm around him.

“Shh,” she soothes him. “Give him time—I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding. Did you tell him how you feel?”

Anthony just shakes his head, and Mari doesn’t press him any further. They stay like that, on the ground together, for a long time. Gradually the sky begins to lighten, and Mari has to get up—she has to drive Peter to work.

“It’ll be okay, Anthony. I know that no matter what happens, you and Ian will find a way to be friends,” she reassures him as she stands and stretches the kinks out of her back.

Anthony wants to tell her that she hadn’t seen the look on Ian’s face; that she is crazy if she thinks there is any way to come back from this. But then he remembers that _he_ is actually the crazy one for even having bothered to think that Ian might someday care for him in the same way that he cares for Ian.

So he says nothing as she leaves, and sits in the empty bedroom til the sun is fully risen.

               

 


	3. 3

The next few days feel like one long nightmare to Anthony.

He tries calling and texting Ian, all to no avail. He even sends an _email,_ and if that doesn’t show how desperate he is, he doesn’t know what will.

Ian doesn’t come back to the Smosh house. Anthony contemplates driving back down to check the place that Ian had recently gotten in L.A., but he doesn’t want to leave Sacramento in case Ian comes here. This is where their story began; their home base of sorts, and the idea of leaving it at a time like this makes him nervous.

He has stopped fooling himself into thinking that he’ll be able to convince Ian to talk to him. Now he just wants to know if Ian is okay. He _had_ stormed off in the middle of the night somewhat drunk, after all. What if something terrible had happened to him, and the last conversation they ever had was Ian yelling for Anthony to fuck off?           

Finally, three days after the kiss, he gets a text.

Not from Ian. From Melanie.

_Hey, Anthony. It’s Melanie. I just wanted to let you know that Ian is fine. He’s staying with me in New Jersey for the time being. Please stop calling and texting._

Well. Anthony feels like he has simultaneously been kicked in the stomach and the heart. He sends another email, just to spite Melanie, who hadn’t told him not to spam Ian’s inbox.

Anyway, that’s that. Ian and Melanie are clearly back together, and Anthony honestly doesn’t know what to do.

He gets drunk alone and crawls into Ian’s bed to sleep that night.

As he drifts off, he is immensely comforted by Ian’s familiar smell permeating the blankets. He knows it’s foolish to allow himself this weakness now; that it will only make it harder in the end when he has to face the reality that he doesn’t have the right to sleep in Ian’s bed and he never will.

But he gives himself one night to pretend otherwise.

* * *

The next week is a blurred, infinite loop of hell. He feels numb and grief-stricken half the time, and the other half of the time, he is thinking of things he wishes he could tell Ian but can’t.

They have filming for a Game Bang scheduled Monday morning, and as the date draws closer, Anthony becomes more and more nervous.

What if Ian doesn’t show? What if he just decides to stay in New Jersey forever; that he doesn’t want to do Smosh anymore?

And what if he _does_ show? He and Ian and Mari are the only ones who know what is going on; how can they fake being normal in front of the other Smosh gamers and the entire fanbase?

Monday dawns annoyingly bright and sunny, and Anthony feels like he hasn’t slept in a week as he gets dressed and makes his way over to Smosh headquarters.

He know he looks like hell—Joven cringes upon seeing him up close, and Mari quickly ushers him to the bathroom to fix him up a little bit.

“I don’t know how I’m going to face him,” Anthony says numbly to Mari as she dabs some kind of powder on his face. “Ow! What the hell _is_ this stuff?” He says, quickly rubbing the makeup out of his eyes.

“It’s concealer, and _don’t_ rub it off!” Mari smacks his hand away. “You look like the walking dead. You’re going to get through this, Anthony.”

“I don’t think I can do it, Mari,” Anthony says, suddenly feeling nauseous as he looks at the time. Ian will be here any second, and he feels the first stirrings of a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in nearly two years, and of course it would happen again, today of all days.

Perhaps Mari sees that he is genuinely in distress, because her face softens.

“Hey, hey—it’s going to be okay. Look, we’ll have a code word, in case it gets too bad. You say the code word, and I’ll find a way to get you out our there. I promise.”

“Okay,” Anthony says, taking several very intentional deep breaths. “Okay.”

“What’s the code word?” Mari asks, packing up her makeup.

Anthony thinks for a minute, staring out the window. He sees Ian’s car pull in the lot.

“Amberlamps,” he says.

* * *

It is even worse than Anthony had anticipated.

It very quickly becomes apparent that something is not right between Anthony and Ian, and Anthony knows they’re not going to be able to use at least half of the footage they’re taking because of all the cold silences between the two of them and the confused stares of the other Game Bangers.

They are playing some stupid racing game, and Joven is trying way too hard to be funny in an attempt to compensate for the fact that Ian’s face has all the warmth of an arctic iceberg. Sohinki just quietly wins every race, as he is wont to do. Lasercorn seems to have taken Ian under his wing for the day, intentionally losing so that Ian won’t have to be one of the people getting punished at the end.

On Anthony’s side, Mari does the same thing. Then again, she is pretty terrible at racing games, so maybe it’s not intentional.

Immediately after they are done, Ian bolts from the room, his stride tight and jerky. Anthony knows he looks like an idiot, but he practically falls out of his chair in an attempt to catch up with Ian.

“Wait!” Anthony shouts, chasing Ian down the hallway. “Ian, wait! Just let me explain!”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Ian says calmly as he steps in the elevator. Anthony manages to stick his foot in at the last second before the doors close, and he stands there, half his body caught in the elevator, staring directly at Ian’s face for the first time since last Saturday night.

Ian looks just as tired as Anthony feels. His beard has grown in thicker, and his hair could use a trim. His shirt is rumpled and he is wearing an old pair of scuffed shoes. He is perfect.

“I don’t want to talk, Anthony,” Ian says. Then, “I got your emails, by the way.”

 _I love you,_ Anthony thinks suddenly in response. It is a staggering realization, and it completely complicates the matter of their broken friendship even further, but he feels only a strange sense of relief and joy at finally thinking the words. He knows he has felt this way for quite some time, but this is the first time it’s ever slipped into his mind subconsciously, a perfectly formed thought.

 _I love you,_ Anthony thinks again, staring at Ian’s haggard face. Ian is going to move out of the Smosh house and in with Melanie any day now and things are terrible, but Anthony is in love with Ian.

The silent shock must be written all over his face, because Ian stares at him oddly. Then he quickly presses the ‘open door’ button, firmly shoves Anthony back into the corridor, and presses the ‘close door’ button.

Once again, Anthony is left alone, in love with someone who won’t even look at him.

“Amberlamps,” he whispers to the empty hallway.

* * *

Anthony does as Ian wishes and leaves him alone for a few days. He doesn’t call him. He doesn’t text him. And he definitely doesn’t email him.

He stays in LA, but he doesn’t call or text or email anybody else, either. He turns off his phone and stays in his apartment with Pip. It reminds him oddly of when he and Kalel had broken up, but it’s so much worse this time, and that is a sure sign that what he feels for Ian is very real and very permanent.

He comes to realize that he has always loved Ian—in that way that best friends love each other without ever saying it; teasing each other and making each other’s lives difficult because it’s funny, but also being there in hard times. But at some point in the past six months or so, that love had shifted into something much deeper.

Anthony has never believed in destiny or in people meeting “the one”—his parents are living proof that love and marriage don’t always work out well—but he knows for a fact that if it exists, Ian is his “one.” This is it. No matter where he goes from here in life, he will never meet someone he loves as deeply as he loves Ian. It’s his own fault for realizing it so late and letting it get so far, but now he has to deal with that fact.

He starts by going through and watching a bunch of their old videos. It hurts, but it makes him feel better too, knowing that there are tangible memories of the affection the two of them have always had for each other out there. Then he scrolls through the tumblr tags, and this is harder because of all the fangirls screenshotting looks exchanged between the two of them where the fondness in Anthony’s eyes is so clear that he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

He sees countless gifs and pictures of himself smiling softly at Ian with comments about how the two of them are going to make a coming-out video one day and get married somewhere down the line, because people who look at each other like that don’t stay ‘just friends’ forever. They live happily ever after.

Or in the case of real, non-tumblr life, they never speak to each other again.

Somewhere in the fourth day, Anthony has had enough. It is the middle of the night, but he needs to get out of his apartment or he feels like he will suffocate.

He grabs his keys and wallet and heads out into the darkness of the LA streets. It is a muggy, sticky night, and there is nobody out but him—no teenagers drinking at the park, no cars idling at the 24-hour fast food drive-thru. Just Anthony and his thoughts.

He walks and walks until his feet ache and he doesn’t recognize where he is. Checking the change in his wallet, he takes a seat at a bus stop and settles in to wait for the next bus. The hours tick by, but Anthony doesn’t mind. The night is peaceful, and he isn’t afraid.

When the bus putters along some time later, it pulls over on the opposite side of the road.

Grumbling at the senselessness of putting up a bus stop on one side of the road and then having the bus stop on the _other_ side of the road, Anthony hops to his feet and begins to jog over to the other side of the street.

Unfortunately, fate decides to fuck him over a little bit more, because the first car to drive down the street in _hours_ happens to come along right at that instant.

There is no time to get out of the way—Anthony doesn’t even see the car until it hits him. There is no time for any epic last thoughts; a montage of his life; regrets over opportunities missed—just a sinking panic in his chest, shock at the moment of impact, and weightlessness as his body sails through the air before crumpling to the ground.

* * *

When Anthony awakes, the first thing he sees is a half-eaten red jello on the tray latched over his bed.

“Oh god,” he groans. “Please tell me I didn’t eat that.” He doesn’t know where he is or why everything is such a bright white, but gelatin is a concerning substance.

“Relax,” a very familiar voice says. “I ate it. You’re still a vegan, although you might want to research IV drugs. Is morphine organic? Who knows?”

“Ian?” Anthony asks, blindly reaching out a hand. “Ian, you’re here?” His fingers brush against a soft flannel sleeve, and he manages to find the warm skin of Ian’s hand. Ian actually allows Anthony to touch him for an instant before he moves his palm away.

“Well, I _am_ your emergency contact still,” Ian says, and there is a hint of frost in his voice now.

Right. Still mad.

“What’s happening?” Anthony asks, willing his eyelids to stay open. It’s a losing battle.

“You were hit by a car, Anthony. You have a concussion and some bruised ribs.” Is it Anthony’s imagination, or does Ian’s voice tremble slightly?

“My head hurts, Ian,” Anthony mumbles, sinking his head back into his pillows.

“I know,” Ian says.

And Ian really must have been scared by the accident, because when Anthony reaches out his hand again, Ian takes it in his own. Anthony memorizes the weight of Ian’s fingers against his own until he falls asleep.

* * *

Ian is not there the second time that Anthony wakes up, and he wonders if it was all just a dream. He looks around as the doctor explains the list of activities he shouldn’t do in the next week while he is recovering from his concussion.

But then he sees the now-completely empty red pudding cup on his bedside table and smiles.

* * *

Anthony doesn’t see anyone except Mari for the next week.

Ian doesn’t call or text, and Anthony wonders if he had gone back to New Jersey to be with Melanie. That’s where he had been when Anthony had had his accident, apparently.

“He came all the way back from New Jersey straight away when it happened,” Mari tells him on day four of his confinement. She has been stopping by each day to check that he is still alive since he is currently living alone. “That’s something,” she continues encouragingly.

“Not really, Mari,” he says flatly. He is tired of lying in bed, and he has given up on hoping for a miracle where Ian is concerned. “The fact that he was in New Jersey in the first place tells me all I need to know.”

Mari shakes her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “I really think you should try talking to Ian again now that he’s had time to cool down. I’ve talked to Mel, and—”

“Mari, you know I love you, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Anthony interrupts.

Mari is quiet for a minute. “Fine,” she sighs. “I talked to the other guys and we scheduled another Game Bang for next week. If you don’t think you’ll be better by then, we can work around it. But the fans are starting to get worried about the lack of content, and a Game Bang is something easy to fake your way through if you still aren’t feeling well.”

Anthony nods. “Be ready with the code word,” he warns, shaking his head disparagingly.

* * *

He is sitting in the Smosh lobby scrolling through his twitter feed when Ian shows up to film the Game Bang.

“Anthony,” he says without preamble, coming to stand in front of Anthony. “Glad you’re still alive.”

“Thanks,” Anthony says, trying to gauge Ian’s mood from his face. “Thanks for coming to the hospital. I hear you had to leave New Jersey early—sorry for ruining your time with Melanie.”

Ian’s face is very pale and he looks very nervous and resolute for some reason. “Yeah, well. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and Melanie helped me figure all of this out. You know…you know,” Ian swallows visibly and Anthony stares at him struggling to speak in bewilderment. “You know…when you lo-care about someone, you do what you have to.”

“Oh,” Anthony says softly, feeling like he has been bashed in the head anew. “So you and Melanie are in love, then?”

“ _What_?” Ian asks incredulously.

“You and Melanie…you guys are back together, right? I mean, I just sort of figured…all the skyping, the visits to New Jersey…”

To his surprise, this makes Ian very angry. “Anthony, you complete idiot!” He shouts, grabbing Anthony by his shirt collar and tugging him to his feet so that they are on even footing. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with _you!_ Even though you never put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher; even though I want to rip off that stupid, _stupid_ crystal necklace you always wear and throw it into the depths of Mount Doom; even though I’m going to unfollow you on Twitter if I see one more vegan activism tweet from you!”

He pauses for a breath here, his face cheeks flushed with anger, letting go of Anthony’s shirt and taking a calming step backwards. His eyes are overly bright, and Anthony realizes that he doesn’t ever remember a time when he has genuinely seen Ian cry.

Ian suddenly looks small and so tired, his eyes downcast and his back almost pressed against the wall as he continues.

“And I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it, but if you can’t fucking deal with it, then get out of my life. I’ve been talking to Mel and she’s helped me realize that I should tell you once and for all and just move on if you handle it shittily—I’ve dealt with this without you knowing for ten years; I’ve been a good best friend to you in spite of being in love with you because I care about your happiness and didn’t want to lose you as a friend. But if you’re going to be a dick—”

“Ian—” Anthony chokes, unable to believe what he is hearing. He feels like someone has reached into his chest and begun squeezing his heart, in a manner that is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Ian,” he tries again. “Ian, ten years?” His voice wobbles and he takes a step forward as Ian takes another back, perfectly synchronized with one another.

Their eyes meet and there is a moment where the world seems to freeze. Anthony sees the future stretching before him in a million different directions from this point, each direction dependent on how he reacts in this next moment. It would be safe if they just agreed never to mention any of this again, if Anthony didn’t confess what he wants to confess. They could go back to their lives, and it might take time, but they could rebuild their friendship and get things back to the way they have always been.

But then he sees Ian standing in front of him, hurt and sad and so _beautiful—_ and all the different possible futures are instantly rendered meaningless, because there is really only one thing he wants, and it is standing right in front of him.

Because simply being friends with Ian will never be enough; because he will always want _more._

And that is all he needs before he is resolutely striding forward. Ian takes one last tiny step backwards, his back hitting the wall, and then Anthony is there, one of his palms pressed against the wall near Ian’s head, his other hand sliding up the side of Ian’s neck, fingers coming to tangle gently in the hair at the nape of Ian’s neck.

He pauses before he does anything else, looking down at Ian’s face, asking for permission with his eyes before further invading Ian’s space.

There is something blazing and fierce and warm in Ian’s gaze, and Ian tilts his chin slightly upwards even as Anthony moves his face down infinitesimally lower; each of their movements unconscious, as though they are drawn together by an invisible cosmic string.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispers, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from Ian’s lips. “I’m sorry that it took me ten years longer than you to figure this thing out.”

Then their lips meet, and Anthony honestly can’t say who it is that closes the final inch of the gap between them. He is too distracted by the feel of Ian’s lips against his own; the way that one of Ian’s hands comes up to rest against Anthony’s cheek.

It is very different from their first kiss the night of the party—that had been all sexual tension; sloppy and drunk; teeth knocking together and tongues twisting against one another.

But this kiss is softer, gentler—it isn’t the passion of a million fireworks exploding, but rather the quiet peace of stepping in the front door after a long journey away from home; of waking up on a Sunday morning and knowing that all is well in the world.

“I love you,” Anthony murmurs against Ian’s mouth, and he swears he hears Ian let out a tiny whimper before pulling away slightly.

“Anthony, if you don’t mean that—”

“I do,” Anthony vows. “I love you. I’m sorry you had to wait for me for so long, but I didn’t know until just a few months ago. After I broke up with Kalel, it just kind of—happened.”

“So,” Ian says, eyes wide with hope. “You didn’t kiss me that night at Mari’s as some weird experiment?”

“No,” Anthony says fervently. “Why would you think that? I kissed you because I have feelings for you.”

“I thought—that night at the hotel when we, um…cuddled. I thought you knew I had a thing for you after that, and that you just kissed me to…I don’t know, to see if it was true or something. Or as some big sexual experiment after getting out of a long-term relationship with Kalel.”

“Wait, you knew about that night at the hotel? _I_ thought you were getting back together with Melanie and that you were mad because you didn’t want your best friend professing his love to you!” Anthony scratches his forehead, bemused by how oblivious they’d both been.

“Christ, we're stupid," Ian exhales. 

“So…you and Mel?”

“Just friends since our break-up. She has a boyfriend,” Ian says, shaking his head. “Things were kind of awkward at first—we broke up because she wanted things to get more serious, and I…I kind of had to tell her about how I happened to fall in love with you back in high school and how I couldn’t get over it. Things were weird at first, but once she got over it, she was awesome. I couldn’t have made it through all this without her.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been waiting ten years,” Anthony says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ian’s mouth, because he _can._ He feels like his heart might vibrate out of his chest.

“That’s okay,” Ian says quietly. “You can spend the unforeseen future making it up to me.”

Anthony decides that a good way to start making it up to Ian would be to kiss again because, yeah. Kissing Ian is kind of the best thing ever, and he has the idea that the rest of their physical relationship is going to be amazing. He gently pushes Ian back against the wall, nipping at his lower lip, his hands coming up to tangle in Ian’s hair again.

They are interrupted before the kiss can go much further, however, by the sound of a door slamming. Both break away and look over to see the rest of the Smosh Games crew: Mari, Lasercorn, Joven, and Sohinki, all shamelessly watching them from the doorway. One of them had clearly accidentally let go of the door in shock upon seeing them start kissing.

Mari, who had known what was happening and what it signified, is crying quietly of happiness, while the three guys each look like they’ve been clubbed over the head. Anthony nervously looks from face to face, but he doesn’t see any disgust or judgment. Just a lot of surprise from the guys, and happiness from Mari.

“Oh my god,” Mari squeals, wiping away a tear. “This is the happiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“You owe me fifty dollars,” Sohinki says to Lasercorn.

“So…you guys are okay with this?” Anthony asks tentatively.

“It’s really none of our business, but of course we’re okay with it,” Lasercorn says in a surprising show of maturity. “Rest in peace, Iancorn,” he adds somberly.

“We should go film without them…they look like they’re about to have a Game Bang of their own, if you know what I mean,” Joven says with a creepy grin.

“Eww,” everyone collectively choruses.

“Not a bad idea,” Anthony whispers in Ian’s ear.

“Oh god, stop _whispering_ to him like that,” Joven says, earlier glee gone. “It’s going to be so weird getting used to this.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Ian says, his hand coming to find Anthony’s. “We have some things to catch up on.”

“Have fun and be safe, kids!” Lasercorn shouts as they walk away.

* * *

They barely make it back to Anthony’s apartment without ripping each other’s clothes off.

This is years and years of built-up sexual tension being released, and Anthony’s hands shake as he tugs at Ian’s shirt.

“Off,” he demands between sucking on Ian’s lower lip and pressing kisses down the column of his throat.

“You too,” Ian mutters in response, obediently pulling off his shirt. He is straddling Anthony, and he helps Anthony tug his shirt over his head.

Anthony explores Ian’s upper body with curious hands, fingers inching lower and lower on Ian’s torso until reaching his belt buckle. Ian shifts his hips all of a sudden and Anthony groans as they grind together.

He slides his hand down the rest of the way, feeling Ian’s hardness through his jeans. It is a surreal moment, touching his friend like this, but Ian’s breath hitches and he buries his face in Anthony’s neck, sucking lightly on the skin at the base of Anthony’s throat, reminding him that this is indeed very real. It’s one of the hottest things Anthony has ever experienced and he suddenly doesn’t know why they haven’t been doing this for _years._

Oh, yeah. Because he’d been an oblivious asshole since the age of sixteen, apparently.

“God, your hair drives me crazy,” Ian murmurs, burying his fingers in Anthony’s hair and raking them through it. “The day you got rid of the emo hair I almost came in my jeans.”

That is all the encouragement Anthony needs to practically rip Ian’s jeans and boxers off of him. Ian tugs Anthony’s zipper down and pull him out of his boxers and then they move against one another, frantic and moaning.

It isn’t tender or graceful and it doesn’t last very long, but Anthony doesn’t mind.

They have the rest of their lives for that.

* * *

“You sure you haven’t been putting me on a pedestal this whole time? I don’t want to get into a relationship and have you find out that I’m not—that it’s not as good as you’d imagined it would be,” Anthony says afterwards as they lay in bed, carefully staring up at the ceiling, his cheeks slightly flushed. He is normally not lacking in self-esteem whatsoever, but ten years is a long time to quietly love someone. Now that he is physically sated, doubt has set in.

“Anthony, look at me,” Ian says, his voice fond. Anthony turns his head on the pillow to meet Ian’s blue gaze. “You forget that I _know_ you. I’ve lived with you for ages, I know what things you do that annoy me. I’ve seen you at your worst—your hair from sophomore years of high school comes to mind—and I’ve seen you at your best. And I still love you. It’s not going to be easy. But doesn’t it feel right to you? Like this was always meant to happen?”

And truthfully, it _does._ Anthony has read a lot of Buddhist and Hindu texts since becoming vegan, and he has decided that he likes the idea of reincarnation. He doesn’t know what really happens after death, but he likes the idea that maybe he and Ian have each lived a thousand lifetimes before this one; that they always find a way back to one another, even if it sometimes takes them a little longer for things to fall into place, this being a case in point.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. We wasted so much time—” Anthony begins remorsefully.

Ian cuts him off with a shake of his head. “It sucked waiting, to be honest. But I think it had to happen like this. We were best friends for so long; we needed time to figure out how to love each other in a way other than that. Now that we’ve gotten the messy soul-searching stuff out of the way, we can just be together.”

“God, I love you,” Anthony breathes, rolling on top of Ian again, lowering his mouth to meet Ian’s. He can’t believe that this is actually _happening,_ that Ian is his to hold like this.

He thinks of all the small moments and choices that have led them here; the way that everything could have turned out so differently if even one little detail in their story had been changed.

And somewhere across galaxies and universes and time and space, Destiny smiles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, if you made it this far! I don't have tumblr currently because I just don't have time, but if you want to chat about Ianthony, I'll be around on here :)
> 
> Once again, sorry about the weak attempt at smut towards the end there. I swore I'd never use the phrase 'bucking his hips' after watching their second channel fanfic reading videos, and I just kept thinking about Anthony and Ian actually finding this and reading it one day as I was writing it *shudders*


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